Stick Like A Pig
by Fearful Little Thing
Summary: Puck has realised a very important truth – a true badass would be able to protect his friends from the bullies at McKinley High. It turns out he just has a problem making the lessons stick. And then he stumbles across the answer...  Puck/Kurt , Murder.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Apparently I can't enter a fandom without writing a serial killer AU. /facepalm

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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**October**

Looking back the whole story had a kind of sick inevitability. Puck spoke the language of violence too well before he ever picked up a blade. The push and pull of muscles, the pain of knuckles meeting flesh, hard grips and sudden movement – it was a kind of poetry. If you spoke the language you knew what was coming next, when to duck, when to hit. Fighting was a thrill, winning was exhilaration. This was just the next step up, so he figured.

Blood on his gloves, dripping from the blade of his bowie knife, and a twisted body at his feet smaller in death than in life. "God, you stink," Puck informed the corpse. There was no response. He'd have been just a bit worried if there was one. He turned away from the body and walked back to his truck, stuck his knife point-first into the gas-can full of industrial grade bleach sitting innocently in the back. The tarp sat beside the can within easy reach. He pulled that off the back of the truck and walked back to the rapidly cooling body, crouched down on the concrete and unrolled the tarp beside the corpse.

"I'll give you three guesses where you're going," he said as he rolled the body onto the tarp, leaving a wet smear of blood and intestinal matter on the concrete. "And the first two don't count."

Puck's efficient, gloved hands wrapped the tarp around the body and tied it neatly in place with nylon rope. He hauled the whole thing up onto the back of his truck. "You," he told the body, giving the tarp a condescending pat, "should not have fucked with The Puck." A beat. "Or his people."

The excuse sounded weaker every time he said it. Puck enjoyed this way too much for it to be plain revenge. He smirked to himself as he slid behind the wheel of his truck. The engine rumbled to life and Joe Cocker's voice crooned at him that he was misunderstood. Puck glanced in the rear-view mirror at the bit of blue he could see in the bed of his pickup. He hummed along as he steered the truck towards the industrial district, the leather of his gloves squeaking against the wheel.

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**Early September**

Ice cold green apple slushy hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. It was only the second time in the entirety of his life that it had happened. "Fuck!" Puck responded, wiping the sticky, icy mess from his face with a hand. He could feel it dripping down his shirt, soaking through the fabric. In a few minutes it would feel like his t-shirt was glued to his chest with sticky, sickly sweet adhesive.

A small, pale hand with painted fingernails gave him a black and red chequered handkerchief. Puck glanced to his left to see Tina giving him a sympathetic look. "Maybe they were aiming for me and missed?" she suggested weakly.

"You were two feet away," Puck replied, mopping his face with her handkerchief. "That's some really shitty aim."

"There's a girl's bathroom up ahead," Tina said, hugging her math book (and the notes Puck had been trying to wheedle from her) close to her chest. "You could clean up in there."

"Girl's bathroom," Puck said dryly. "Score."

It was still a good idea. So, despite the fact that he felt in no way like a rebel with apple slushy sticking his shirt to his skin, Puck stalked down the hall and pushed open the door to the girl's bathroom. A freshman in pigtails squealed. Two senior girls retouching their makeup at the mirror glared at him, obviously about to ask him what the hell he was doing in a girl's bathroom when Tina came through the door behind him.

"'Sup ladies," Puck said, sarcasm dripping from his lips like the sticky liquid seeping through his shirt. "Someone here order a stripper-gram?"

"We'll be out of your way really soon," Tina promised, smiling apologetically. She grabbed hold of Puck's elbow and marched him over to the sink furthest from the door, the smile gone from her lips. "You, shirt off and sit down."

His reputation must have really fallen, Puck thought glumly, if chicks like Tina could actually boss him around. Still, she had a point. He stripped out of his sticky shirt and handed it over to Tina's expertise. He watched for future reference – God, how fucking low had he sunk that he actually figured on getting slushied again some time in the future – as she filled up one of the sinks with water and put his shirt in to soak. She then pulled a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser and dampened them before handing them over to him.

Puck used a couple to wipe his face down first, then used the rest to get rid of the sticky residue on his chest. He leaned against the bathroom wall, arms crossed, and tried his very best to look as if it were totally normal for him to be standing shirtless in a girl's bathroom while the school's resident goth-chick washed his shirt in a sink. He managed remarkably well.

Tina drained the water from the sink and wrung out his shirt carefully. She then commandeered one of the mounted dryers to dry the material. "It's still going to be damp," she told him, "but it's the best you can do on short notice."

"You guys keep extra shirts and stuff at school, right?"

"At least two changes," Tina answered, looking back at him over her shoulder as the two seniors left, pigtail-girl already gone. "So... if you think this might happen again..."

Puck snorted. "Screw that." He pushed himself away from the wall and stalked back and forth in front of the stalls. "Nobody fucks with me."

"Somebody did," Tina pointed out, looking at his shirt and not at him.

"Then I'm getting them back," Puck announced, hands already clenched into fists. He felt predatory, ready for a fight. Some punkass puckhead thought he could fuck with the Puckasaurus? He was sorely mistaken. "I'm making sure it never happens again."

"How are you going to do that?" Tina asked mildly. She turned around and held out his mostly-dry shirt. "That's about as good as it's going to get."

Puck thought a moment. He took his shirt back, covered his skin with the damp (but clean) fabric and frowned. "I dunno," Puck admitted. "I'll beat someone up. I'll destroy the slushy machine. I'll do _something_ and remind everyone in this school that you don't mess with me."

He looked at Tina again and saw an odd expression on her face. "It must be nice," she said after a moment. "To be able to protect yourself. Um... here are those math notes. I have to get to class."

She shoved the notes into Puck's chest and left before he could even get a proper grip on them. Puck stood there in the empty girl's bathroom, his frown deeper than before, and a page of mathematics sticking to the damp cotton of his t-shirt. He felt weird, like he should be doing something. He gently peeled the math notes from where they were stuck to his shirt and looked down at where the ink had started to bleed on contact with the damp. Tina's handwriting was precise and rounded. She had doodled little flowers into the margins.

Puck suddenly identified what exactly it was he felt he should be doing. And he swore. "This bites. This bites like a rabid weasel."

If Puck were truly a badass he wouldn't just be protecting himself. Somehow, without his really noticing it, he had actually become friends with the geeks from glee club. And friends – he felt sort of like a pussy just for thinking it – don't just stand around while their friends were being pushed around.

Puck had work to do. Like, a lot of work.

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**October**

The weekend always passed quickly these days. Puck had a lot to fill in his time, and a lot of that was planning. He'd never put this much effort into anything, but he reasoned that was because the stakes were never so high. Football and Glee were once the only two things he'd really cared about enough to make an effort in, everything else he'd just let go, coasting by on reputation and whatever natural aptitude he might have had. He scraped by with Cs in school – it occurred to him that if he'd put this much effort into homework and assignments he might actually pass as one of the smart kids. After all, he was smart enough to plan and execute. It stood to reason he could be smart about other things too.

Puck parked his pickup in the school's lot. He jumped out of the car and shut the door with the heel of his boot, liked the sound it made as metal met metal. He took the long way to the front doors, swinging past the dumpsters on the way in. In the past couple of weeks he'd halved the number of usual offenders, and it was nice to see his own handiwork in the fact that nobody was hanging out near the dumpsters waiting to toss some unsuspecting geek.

His lips quirked upwards into an involuntary smirk as he remembered the last guy – Donahue. Poor unfortunate bastard. He'd never fuck with anyone again, unless it was in the afterlife.

He nodded a hello to Finn and Rachel on the steps, gesturing that he was going to go inside rather than stay and chat. Rachel could be cool, but Puck still preferred her in small doses. Anyway, he had other people to meet inside. That was nice too, he mused as he pushed his way straight through the other kids in the hallway, hanging out with his gleeks outside practice. Dorks were cool. And these ones, the ones currently congregating by Kurt Hummel's locker, were his.

"'Sup," Puck greeted the small group with a nod.

"Noah," Kurt greeted him, lips pursed with the thrill of gossip and knowing something that nobody else did. "You had practice with Donahue on Friday after school, didn't you? Perhaps you can give us the scoop?"

"What scoop?"

"The entire school is talking about it," Mercedes informed him. "It was all over the news last night too. They're saying Donahue never made it home on Friday, just disappeared right off the face of the earth between the end of football practice and curfew."

"Well he was fine when I saw him last," Puck replied easily. He leaned against the row of lockers that lined the wall, unconcerned that he might be blocking someone's way, and crossed his arms casually. "Anyway we're not exactly pals now. I could care less what happened to him over the weekend."

"You don't even care?" Tina asked, trailing somewhere between awe and incredulity.

Puck shrugged. "He's an asshole. He could be rotting in a bath full of bleach for all I care."

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

"Hm," Kurt hummed, blue-gray eyes sharp and focussed on Puck. "Donahue _was_ a terrible person. And a little dark humour never hurt anyone before now. The ghouls are out in force already, we may as well admit to being a part of them."

"Kurt's right," Mercedes agreed. "I just want to know what happened. Even if that boy _is_ out there rotting in a bath tub."

"I wonder if they're going to offer counselling," Tina said, looking over her shoulder and in the general direction of the administration office. "I mean, that's three kids that have gone missing now. I think people are starting to get freaked out."

"Maybe there's a serial killer on the loose," Kurt suggested.

"If there is it's someone with a grudge against jocks."

"Maybe you oughtta watch out, Mohawk," Mercedes said, bumping her shoulder lightly against Puck's arm. "You might be next."

"Yeah, I doubt it." Puck grinned. "I'm just too badass even for a killer."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: I love a warm reception as much as the next psycho.

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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**September**

It was an extra-large grape slushy, freshly poured and waiting for a victim. The carrier scouted the immediate area, saw a notable target, and zeroed in. A smirk. He took aim. And suddenly a hand whacked the cup from underneath, sending the icy cold grape mixture flying. "What the fuck, Puckerman!" Karofsky exploded, still clutching the mostly-empty cup, his fingers suddenly cold and sticky, purple splatters dotting his sneakers and the cuffs of his jeans.

"One," Puck replied, holding up his index finger. He smirked, and clapped Karofsky's shoulder condescendingly. "Better luck next time, Dave."

Number two happened between classes in the five minute window students had before officially being late to their next class. Karofsky had cut the last ten minutes of his last class to get to the cafeteria and back. It never occurred to him to check whether Puck was anywhere around as he prepared to douse Rachel Berry in the face... Only to get his hand slammed from underneath for the second time in as many hours.

"That's two," Puck told him, a downright evil grin on his face as he marched past Karofsky and offered his arm to Rachel. Shocked, Rachel let herself be whisked away down the hall before she remembered that her next class was in the opposite direction and had to run to avoid being late.

The sleeve of Karofsky's letterman jacket was stained a sticky pink. His shoes felt tacky, the liquid soaked through to his socks. "Fuck," he said eloquently. "You are so dead, Puckerman."

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**October**

It was ten to midnight when Puck took off his gloves, dug out his phone, and called Kurt. He had a cut on his cheek from a lucky punch where Donahue's class ring had caught him and the knuckles on his right hand were scraped and still bleeding sluggishly. The inside of his gloves were tacky with the blood, but he didn't care. As long as it was just the lining of the thick leather gloves he was fine, and he'd already removed the ring and dropped it into the handy can of bleach he'd taken to keeping in the back of his pickup.

He had the body dumped in a nice secluded area, nobody had seen him, and everything else had gone as smoothly as possible. There was just one small problem that he'd forgotten to think about. And there was only one person Puck felt confident enough to call for that kind of help.

It took Kurt six rings to pick up. "What is it?"

"Hummel," Puck said. He knew the perfect way to get Kurt to come to him, no questions asked. "Want to see a dead guy?"

For a moment there was total silence on the other end of the line.

"Where?" Kurt asked breathlessly. "Puck. Where are you?"

"You can't take your car," Puck warned. "You'll have to catch a cab to Ross and walk from there. I'll wait for you there."

There was another pause, and this time Puck could hear the sound of fabric rustling. "I'll be there in half an hour," Kurt promised. Puck thought for just a moment about leaving his sports bag where it was on the floor, then thought better of it. There was like a million-to-one chance of anyone stumbling on Donahue's body, but just on the off chance... Puck was going to be taking all of his incriminating evidence with him.

He watched Kurt get out of the taxi, dressed down in skinny jeans and a pale blue sweater, the sneakers he wore for Cheerios practice on his feet. Puck waited for the cab to leave before he stepped out of the shadows and walked up to Kurt. "Hey, Hummel."

"Puck," Kurt nodded to him, then frowned at him when he caught a good look at the other boy under the streetlight. "What happened to your face?"

"Nothing. Anyway, I need your help with something."

"I thought you were going to show me a body."

"I will," Puck promised. "After. You're good with cars, right?"

"Oh my god. What did you do?"

"Nothing. The truck just crapped out on me, ok? You fix it, I'll show you the dead dude, then we leave." Puck shrugged and started leading Kurt towards the abandoned pipe works building that he'd dumped the body in. He'd researched the location before he picked it. The place was for sale, and had been for about two years already. Puck had even gone so far as to check its market value against the asking price just to make sure it wouldn't suddenly sell right after he dumped Nathan's stone-cold corpse in the basement. He was pretty damn sure it wouldn't. "No big deal," he concluded.

"We'll have to fix your face too," Kurt informed him, bossy even in the middle of the night in a strange part of town on the way to see a murder victim. "There's no way you can go home looking like that."

"I get into fights all the time. A little cut like that is nothing."

"I don't care. You're in that ridiculous fight club aren't you? Do you have a first aid kit in your car, in case you get hurt?"

"Yeah." Puck wasn't a total dumbass.

"I'll fix your car," Kurt said, lips shaping the words as if they were set in stone. "You'll show me the body, then I'll fix your face. And then we leave."

"Fine, Princess. Whatever your bitchy highness commands."

"And if you think this counts as a date," Kurt added, in what Puck suspected was just to have the last word, "you should think again."

Puck still considered it a date. It would end pretty much the same way, so why call it anything else? They went somewhere, shared an activity, talked about common interests... And then - considering what he knew about Kurt that nobody else did - they probably had sex in the pickup after he'd gotten all worked up over his kinky death fetish.

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"One day you will get caught," Kurt told him plainly, examining the small cut on Puck's cheekbone, followed by the larger grazes on his knuckles. "You do realise that, don't you?"

Puck shrugged dismissively. He refused to wince when the cotton ball soaked in antiseptic touched his skin. "So?"

"So getting caught would be stupid. This," Kurt elaborated, voice sharp despite the gentle way he handled the grazes on Puck's knuckles, "is stupid."

"You think it's fucking hot. Admit it."

"You're stupid."

Puck didn't even try to reply, he just waited for Kurt's lips to seal over his own and thrust his tongue straight past those strawberry flavoured lips and into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. The freshly cleaned grazes on his knuckles stung as he grabbed hold of Kurt's ridiculously expensive sweater and yanked the other boy closer, down onto his lap. Their bodies pressed together through the too-heavy layers of their clothing. Puck rolled his hips upwards, voicing a soft groan into Kurt's mouth when the other boy rocked down against him in answer.

"F-fuck you," Kurt gasped, breathless, into the kiss.

"Yeah," Puck replied, pulling away just enough to grin at Kurt's flushed face and smudged lipgloss, "fuck me."

"We're in the men's room of an abandoned fah-actory." Kurt's voice hitched and he pressed his hips forward into the hand that had somehow wormed between their bodies to cup him through his jeans. "There's a body in the..." The hand fumbled with the zipper on his jeans, dragging the zip down slowly. "The basement. And your truck is still... We should move your truck."

"Shut the hell up," Puck told him, shoving his hand impatiently into Kurt's jeans and pulling out his erection. "You want this sucked or not, huh? Gets you so hot, doesn't it?" Puck teased, leaning forward to suck a red mark against Kurt's collarbone. "Imagining me sticking that guy with my knife... I still got it here, Hummel. I haven't even stuck it in the bleach yet."

"Idiot," Kurt whined. "Fucking stupid, big..." He slid off Puck's lap with a noise of frustration and stood, hand flying to his belt. "Alright," he snapped, quickly undoing his pants properly and shoving them down off his hips. Puck nearly licked his lips at the view. "Hurry up. We'll make this quick and then we're getting the hell out of here."

"No problem here," Puck replied, popping the buckle of his belt open. He stood, and pushed his jeans down without undoing them, silently thanking whatever 'talentless imbecile' came up with the fashion trend of pants at least a size too big. Puck watched Kurt's pretty blue eyes drop hungrily to his naked cock. "You want this in you?" Puck asked, reaching down to wrap a fist around himself, "or you want me to bend over so you can fuck me like the sick little animal you are?"

"Show me the knife," Kurt answered immediately, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with excitement. "Show me the knife and bend over."

Puck kind of loved that look on the other boy's face. He turned around and bent over to retrieve the knife from the shirt he'd wrapped it in, then braced himself against the bench he'd been sitting on and held out the knife to one side for Kurt to see. He could hear the other boy's footfalls, listening to each step as Kurt came up behind him. Soft, warm hands way too large to belong to a girl smoothed down over his naked hips.

"Fuck," Kurt breathed, and one of his hands dipped between Puck's spread legs to fondle his balls before sliding back to rub over the entrance to his body. "Lube?"

"Got none," Puck replied, he canted his hips back to make his back arch enticingly, bracing his other hand against the wall where Kurt could still clearly see the blood-smeared knife. "Use spit. Hurry up."

For a few very long seconds all Puck could hear was the wet sound of Kurt's mouth against his own fingers, then those fingers were touching him again, probing and pushing impatiently.

"I'm not gonna break, Princess. Hurry the f-ahh!"

Puck could sense the other boy's smirk in the way the two fingers now buried knuckle-deep into his body twisted and pushed. He could hear Kurt's heavy breathing and imagined him watching, looking down at his own hand as he fingered Puck's ass. "I don't suppose -" he could also hear the strain in Kurt's voice "- you have any condoms with you either..."

"I went out tonight to kidnap a guy and kill him before dumping his sorry-ass body," Puck replied through gritted teeth, willing his hips to stay still as the sudden burn melted into a dull ache mixed with flickers of pleasure, "I wasn't planning on getting fucked up the ass."

"You're such a jerk."

"Just fuck me already, Hummel."

Puck regretted his hastiness a moment later when Kurt's fingers left him. He forced his breath not to catch as he felt Kurt press in close behind him, the blunt tip of his cock pushing against Puck's barely-stretched hole. Kurt reached out and wrapped one of those hands around the knife handle over Puck's fingers. He rolled his hips forward until the head of his cock pushed into Puck's body.

"S-still not breaking?" Kurt sounded like he was smirking again.

"Kinky little bitch," Puck grumbled. He jumped at Kurt's sudden, loud smack to his ass. Then grinned and widened his stance as much as he could with his jeans pooled around his ankles. There were some definite merits to this, the pain mixed with bursts of pleasure when Kurt thrust in. It was exhilarating, almost the same as stabbing someone. He wondered if Kurt felt the same way, if fucking him was like killing. He wondered if it gave the other boy the same slow burn in the pit of his stomach, the same tingle against his spine that made his nipples tighten and his cock twitch.

Puck's body ached, the cuts on his knuckles stung, and his blood sang in his veins. He could feel every movement that Kurt made, could hear the way the other boy was panting, the small noises falling from his lips. Puck let his weight rest against the hand pressed to the wall and raised his other hand to touch himself. Kurt's hands were branding irons pressing against his flesh.

He'd feel this long after they parted ways, would touch himself again when he got home in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark enough to sneak inside unnoticed. He imagined Kurt doing the same to a memory of his body and groaned.

Kurt finished the same way he had before, with a choked-off whimper and a hand pressed to his mouth to stifle the sound. Still hard and left unsatisfied Puck stopped touching himself and waited for Kurt to pull out. It was sensible, as much as it sucked. If the body was found then the building might get searched from top to bottom for clues. Semen would be one huge clue, and while they'd need a DNA test to match it to him Puck wasn't going to take any chances. He'd seen enough cop shows to know there were some things you just didn't do.

Which wasn't much of a consolation when he was pulling his jeans up over his erection and reluctantly buckling his belt. He retrieved the slightly stained t-shirt from the floor and wrapped up his bowie knife again before shoving the shirt back into his bag. When Puck turned around again Kurt was perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place. If you ignored the blush and the bitten lips it was as if nothing had happened.

"You're all pink, Princess," Puck teased, and shoved his bag at Kurt. He knew there would be no complaints, if it had to do with murder then Kurt was the perfect accomplice.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or did you not blow your load yet?" Kurt replied airily. The pale boy flicked his hair from his forehead and hoisted the bag over his shoulder delicately. "Are we going now? We should move your truck before someone sees it."

"Blow me."

"When you've moved your truck and cleaned the knife."

Being involved with a bitch could be so fucking annoying, Puck mused as he watched Kurt turn on his heel and stalk out of the bathroom. But it was also so very rewarding. All he had to do was make it into the goddamn truck and away from the building before he shoved Kurt's head down against his crotch. It would be worth the wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: I have actually secretly been drawing illustrations to go with this fic.

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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**September**

Out of all the boys in the locker room, Puck was the strongest. Or so his muscle definition would imply. He took working out seriously and it showed. He could beat any of the other guys one on one, partly because he wasn't scared of taking a hit. He had the principles of fighting ingrained like second nature - Keep your back to the wall, get up if you're knocked down, don't be scared to take a hit (because taking a hit and coming back for more usually freaks the other guy the fuck out), and if you've got a weapon then don't fucking drop it. There were other 'rules', but Puck liked those first ones best.

Unfortunately for him he wasn't the only guy in the locker room with a solid knowledge of how to beat people.

Karofsky and Azimio took point while Donahue and Phillips cleared space in the room. They were all dressed, or half-dressed, having rushed through their showers to get done before their target. Puck, on the other hand, had just stepped out of the shower and was dressed only in a towel while he reached for his shirt.

He could by the way they surrounded him that this was not going to be fun.

Puck narrowed his eyes. He forgot about putting on his shirt and instead balled his hands into fists. He needed a wall behind him, quick, or some way to make sure they didn't get his hands behind his back. Puck made the first move. He darted to the left and threw all of his weight into the punch - a move that was usually pretty dumb, but he needed Phillips incapacitated for long enough to push past him and get the wall behind him.

Things moved fast after that. Phillips went down and Puck leapt through the gap he made in the few precious seconds it took the other boy to get back up again. It never occurred to him to yell for help, or for a teacher. Karofsky came after him, flanked by Azimio, Donahue following behind with a nasty look on his face. All of them, Puck realised as he ducked Azimio's fist only to be caught by a kick from Karofsky, guys he'd stopped from messing with the gleeks more than once.

There were other guys, he noticed as the wind was driven from him lungs. Surrounding them. Ringing them and forming a wall of flesh between them and escape. They were chanting, laughing, and Puck felt a sudden murderous fury in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself up despite the pain in his lungs. He was a force to be reckoned with. Even naked and outnumbered he'd go down hard or not at all.

He managed to crack his knuckles against Karofsky's nose just once before the commotion escalated. Boys scattered and suddenly the fight was broken up, Karofsky hauled away from him and Donahue trying to subtly inch away before he was caught like Azimio had been.

Puck stood in a defensive stance, hands still balled into fists, panting like he'd just run a marathon. He was still naked, towel dropped and forgotten in the scuffle. There must have been something about the way he looked, eyes narrowed into a sharp, cutting glare, because Coach Tanaka just stared at him for a moment in shock.

"Puckerman," he says after a moment, "get dressed. The rest of you are going straight to the principal's office."

Puck watched as his attackers were marched out of the locker room by a very pissed-off teacher. He waited until they were gone before he stalked back across the locker room to where he'd left his clothes. He wasn't worried about getting into trouble. It was pretty obvious who had been the underdog here, even if he'd technically started the fight.

"Puckerman," Tanaka said after a moment. "If you ever need to talk..."

"It's cool, coach," Puck said, zipping up his jeans.

"I just mean, if you need help." Tanaka cleared his throat, and the next thing he said sounded like a line pulled directly from a teen PSA; "I know bullying isn't something kids like to talk about."

"Jesus," Puck muttered under his breath. He pulled his shirt on, then turned around and shrugged. "I said it's cool. We got into a fight, thanks for stopping it... Can I go now?"

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**October**

A week's worth of detention and the dumbasses still didn't learn. Puck was at his wit's end over these jerk-offs. The vast majority of casual bullies had backed off when the realised that Noah Puckerman was now championing the cause of the gleeks. But there was still one small group of repeat offenders that just refused to learn.

They thought they were alpha males, that they were the top of the pack, therefore the social elite and above the rules. Puck thought it was complete and utter bullshit.

Rachel Berry's white cardigan was stained an obnoxious pink, parts of her hair dripping wet with raspberry, her face shiny and sticky with melted slushy mixture. It was pure luck that Puck caught sight of her when he did, just a split second before she disappeared into a girl's bathroom. In an instant Puck went from self-satisfied to livid. He'd only just stopped some asshole from dumping a tray of pasta into Artie's lap in the cafeteria and now it turned out that while he was doing that some other jerk was shoving ice cold raspberry mix into Rachel's face.

Not that he hadn't wanted to do that to her himself plenty of times in the past. It was the principle of the thing.

He shoved his way through a group of bespectacled geeks crowded around someone's iphone and barged into the girl's bathroom. "Who did it?" He demanded straight up. He didn't care that Rachel might not be the only girl in there, that there might be other girls lurking in the stalls. "Was it Karofsky? Phillips? Who?"

Rachel looked at him through the mirror, her eyes looking at his reflection. A toilet flushed, adding to the awkward silence. Rachel shrugged and reached up to start unbuttoning her cardigan. She was wearing a modest tank top underneath. "Why do you want to know?"

"So I can do something about it?"

"Why?" Rachel asked again, unfolding a new cardigan from her emergency after-slushy kit. "Why do you care about this now?"

"Because I can. I don't know. Do I need a reason?" The reasoning sounded much more credible to Puck when he didn't try to explain it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We're friends," he said, watching her clean her face. "It'd make me a total pussy if I didn't stick up for my friends."

"Wow." Rachel wiped a last bit of cheery-flavoured stickiness from her cheeks and turned to face him. "You've really changed, haven't you?"

"What? No."

"I think it's sweet," Rachel beamed at him. She slid a beret into her hair, artfully hiding the few sticky strands that she couldn't was in the sink. "You've developed a conscience through love of song."

"Just tell me who it was, ok?"

"But this is -"

"Jesus, Berry! Gimme a damn name."

Rachel blinked. She twisted her hands together as she looked at him, and Puck imagined that she was forcing herself to hold back any number of inane happy-go-lucky trivialities. "Ok," she said finally. "It was Karofsky. He caught me just outside the choir room."

"Fucking Karofsky," Puck muttered. He barely resisted punching the wall. It was always Karofsky. The bastard just didn't learn. "I think I'm gonna talk to him."

Puck left the girl's bathroom, the door swinging shut of Rachel's "you're going to talk to Karofsky!" He ignored the surprised looks from the small group of girls outside and stalked down the hallway.

Karofsky was at the bottom of the list, still at least two names away from being dealt with permanently. But being on the list wasn't an excuse. If he changed his ways now and left Puck's people alone then he could still upgrade from 'stabbed repeatedly in the chest' to 'stabbed through the eye socket'. One would be slow and painful, while the other would be painful but much, much quicker. A few short seconds versus a couple of minutes in agony. Being thicker than two short planks was no excuse either. Even dogs learned. Maybe with enough repetition Dave Karofsky could learn too.

Puck didn't catch up with the hockey player until school had finished.

He literally caught up with Karofsky in the car park, having stalked him in silence since the end of after school sports practice to make sure he was alone - he didn't want any repeats of what had happened in the locker room. The hockey player was by his car, just about to open the door, when Puck made his appearance.

"Hey Karofsky, we need to talk."

"Nobody needs to talk to you, Puckerman. You need to get lost."

"Yeah, not happening." Puck took a casual stand in front of Karofsky, close enough to lean on the hood of the car if he wanted to. He decided it was best to come straight to the point. "I don't want you messing with my friends."

"What?" Karofsky scoffed.

"The glee club," Puck specified. "You're going to stop fucking with them. Or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I make the rest of your short, sad life a living hell."

Karofsky actually laughed. "You? Dude. You and what army?"

"I'm serious," Puck said, starting to feel anger uncurl and rise from the pit of his stomach. He took a step back. A scuffle in the parking lot wasn't what he was intending here. If they fought then Karofsky would forget what Puck had said and go for revenge instead. Puck knew because it's what he would have done.

"Whatever. Get away from my car." Karofsky opened his car door, clearly intent on ignoring whatever else Puck had to say.

"You ever wonder where your buddy Donahue is?" Puck asked.

Karofsky stopped half-in, half-out of his car. The look on his face clearly stated that he thought Puck was retarded. "Uh, what?"

"Your friend? Big dumb guy with the blond hair. Have you wondered why he hasn't been in school the past few days?" Puck shrugged casually and took a step back, patted the bonnet of Karofsky's car and gave him a condescending smirk. "Why don't you think about that and get back to me?"

Karofsky had about a week and a half to think about it if Puck kept to the schedule he had planned out. Kurt would probably tell him that it was stupid to tell Karofsky to think about his friend's sudden disappearance, but at least this once Kurt could shove it.

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* * *

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**September**

"You and me, after school. No interference, no teachers, no rules."

Puck stood in the hallway, blocking entrance to the classroom. He was deadly serious, arms crossed over his chest, the force of his glare making him seem taller than he actually was. He'd been caught off guard yesterday in the locker room, and after an evening of quiet reflection he'd decided that maybe a physical confrontation was the way to go after all. This time he was fixing for a proper fight, a real one on one of the kind he was used to. Bare knuckles, no rules, all out brawling until one of them was down and not getting back up again.

Karofsky looked him up and down as if assessing his seriousness. "It's not just me who has the problem," the hockey player pointed out.

"So I'll take you all on," Puck replied easily. "As long as it's one on one. Whoever wants to fight me can come get it, but no ganging up on me like a bunch of pussies too scared to fight on your own." When the other boy didn't answer straight away Puck stepped away from the door and started down the hallway to his own class. "This evening at six, down by the bleachers. I'll be there."

He left before waiting for an answer and casually breezed into his science class ten minutes late. He didn't even pretend to do any work, too busy trying to figure out how many guys would actually show up and who were the likely candidates. How he'd beat them, what their weaknesses were. A couple of bloody noses, maybe a few broken bones, and nobody would be messing with him or the other glee kids in a long, long time.

Puck went home for the couple of hours between the end of choir practice and the scheduled fight. He told his mom he'd be out late, messed up his sister's hair, and left dressed in sweatpants, and a tight tee. The sweatpants were for easy movement, the tight shirt to make it harder to pull him in by his clothes. He wore sneakers instead of heavy boots, though he'd had a couple of fantasies about breaking someone's knees with his favourite pair of steel caps. Sneakers were easier to move in and he wanted to be light on his feet.

He arrived at the bleachers early and set about getting himself warmed up. He was done exactly two minutes before anyone else showed up.

Azimio arrived first, followed by Donahue and Phillips in the same car, Karofsky came next, and finally another couple of puckheads that arrived on mountain bikes instead of by car.

Puck cracked his knuckles. "Alright, bitches," he started, by no means intimidated. He'd done one-on-one progression fights at the club, and high school jocks weren't nearly as tough as the guys who went there. "Who starts?"

An hour later as he dabbed at his bloody nose with his ruined shirt before tossing it into the hamper he realised he'd forgotten one very important detail. High school jocks were nowhere near as hardcore as a middle-aged boxer with anger management issues... But at least the boxer had a sense of honour.

The fighting hadn't gone anything like he'd planned. He'd started off with a one-on-one with Azimio and everything had been going great. He'd gotten in a couple of freaking fantastic punches when suddenly he was sucker-punched in the kidneys from behind. The odds switched from one-on-one to six-against-one and Puck had been forced to cut his losses, kick his way out of the mêlée, and run like hell.

It took four blocks for them to stop chasing him. On top of all that he'd had to wait around for them to leave so he could go back and get his truck. Frankly it was just damn lucky they hadn't seen the car or he might have been dealing with busted windows or slashed tyres.

His only real consolation was that Azimio's left eye was probably going to be swollen shut by morning. Try explaining that, he thought viciously, and punched his pillow. His fist left a deep dent in the foam. For just a moment he imagined the pillow was a body. The idea was so satisfying that he hit it again dead centre with two sharp jabs. Then he sighed and flopped down onto his bed. He'd clean up later. He'd think of another way to get even later.

"Lousy cheating assholes," Puck muttered as he toed his sneakers off one after the other and let the shoes fall to the floor.

Sooner or later he would get even, then those jerks would wish they'd never even met him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**: /sings the "Nobody Cares" song.

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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* * *

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**October**

"My dad wants to meet you."

Puck sat up on his bed, a frown on his face that the boy he was talking to couldn't see. He gripped his phone just a little tighter. "Say what, Princess?"

"My dad wants to meet you," Kurt repeated patiently over the phone. His end of the line was on speaker, so Puck could hear the small noises of the other boy rearranging things on his vanity and the soft sounds of some Broadway soundtrack playing in the background.

"Yeah, why?" Puck asked. He flopped back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling like he had been before, wearing nothing but socks and boxers, TV on mute and playing an action movie he'd forgotten the title of. "How does he even know who I am?"

"He caught me coming back home after I snuck out to fix your little engine problem. I had to say something, so I told him I'd gone to see a friend. He asked me who and I was too tired to think of a sufficient lie, so I told him the truth." There was a small beat of silence and Puck imagined the way Kurt's lips would be quirked up into a sarcastic little smile. "Some of it anyway. I told him your car had broken down and you didn't have insurance, so I went to see if I could fix it for you. Now he thinks we're dating -"

"We're not dating," Puck stated, smirking because he knew how much it would annoy the other boy. "We're fucking."

"Now he thinks we're dating," Kurt repeated, pointedly ignoring the comment, "and he's invited you over to dinner on Wednesday. I tried to tell him that you had other plans, but I'm afraid if you don't' show up on Wednesday he might track you down and show up on your doorstep to interrogate you. It's Wednesday or bust, Noah. And I know your dirty little secret."

"Yeah? Well I know yours."

"Hm," Kurt hummed, unimpressed (Puck kind of loved the way he did that), "yes. I'm a kinky little bitch and I'm hot for your body."

"I've got plans on Wednesday," Puck said instead, turning his head to look at the list on his desk, hidden under a stack of half-finished homework and assignments whenever he left the room. Under three crossed-out scribbles was the name 'Azimio'. "Remember? I already bought the garbage bags. You're the one who told me not to fuck with my plans."

"I did say that," Kurt agreed reluctantly, "and it _is_ short notice..."

"If I don't do it I'll have to wait until next Wednesday."

Kurt was silent, and for a few long seconds all Puck could hear was the sound of Liza Minnelli singing Don't Tell Mama. "If we make it a late dinner do you think you could be done by eight?"

Puck thought about it, idly playing with his nipple ring as he ran over what he'd have to do and by when. "Yeah," he said eventually, "if I can get him alone before six."

"Alright. Get Azimio alone before six, stab the greasy bastard to death and dispose of his corpse by eight, and then you'll need come straight to my house so we can have dinner at eight-thirty."

"What do I say if your dad asks what I was doing?"

"I don't know," Kurt said flatly. "Lie. You're good at that."

"So're you."

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* * *

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Puck set his watch on a timer when Wednesday evening rolled around. The alarm would go off first at six o'clock, and again at quarter to eight to remind him to wrap things up. He'd thought the time limit would put extra pressure on him but all he felt was the same buzzing excitement as before. He felt hyperaware of the world around him, anger and excitement channelled into steely focus.

It was easier than he thought to get Azimio on his own. Puck caught him alone right outside the other boy's house at twenty to six. Just from casual observation Puck already knew that the other boy's parents worked late, rarely home before seven on weeknights. He slammed the other boy's head down against the concrete twice, then broke out the zip-ties.

Azimio was bundled into the back of his own car by five-to, the backpack full of gear Puck had brought with him sitting innocently on the passenger seat.

Puck's watch beeped as he backed out of the driveway. He glanced at the unconscious boy in the back seat and smirked. He fucking rocked at time management.

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* * *

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Puck was still reeling from the thrill when he arrived on the Hummel's doorstep, dressed in new jeans and a black button-up shirt over a matching tank. It was five past eight and he was riding on a natural high, everything on his mental Clean-up Checklist already ticked and double checked. They'd know Azimio was missing pretty quickly, but God... it would take them days, maybe weeks, to find the body. If, by that time, there was anything left to find.

The door opened and Puck smiled, adding a touch of nervousness to make it convincing. "Mr. Hummel? I'm Noah Puckerman - Puck."

Kurt's father looked him up and down, raised an eyebrow, and then finally offered him a hand to shake. "Nice to finally meet you, Noah. Kurt has told me pretty much nothing about you."

"Dad!" Kurt's voice sailed through the open door. "Please, stop harassing my boyfriend and let him in."

Puck bit back the rude response and smiled winningly instead. If he could get through this and actually make a good impression then Kurt would owe him big. He sat through an awkward twenty minute chat with Kurt's dad while they waited for dinner to finish cooking, and complimented the chef generously when the grilled chicken was served. He answered questions about school (C average and better at working with his hands) and sports (full contact sports rocked, and golf was just boring) and glee (more fun than he'd had in years).

By the time dessert was finished Burt Hummel seemed to have decided that he was at least trusted enough for Kurt to drag him away to his bedroom as long as the door stayed open.

"Your dad is hella scary," Puck told Kurt as he sat down on the end of the pale boy's bed.

"He's a big teddy bear," Kurt said dismissively, walking straight past him to check his hair in the vanity mirror. He smoothed his bangs, then turned around to face Puck. "Is he deader than a doornail?"

For just a split second Puck actually thought Kurt was talking about Mr. Hummel, then it clicked. "Yeah, he's dead."

Kurt's lips pressed together into a smile. "How dead?"

Puck grinned at him, feeling an echo of the thrill that had thrummed through him as he stuck Azimio with his knife. "Really fucking dead." He watched Kurt saunter towards him, tipped his face up at the perfect angle and closed his eyes when Kurt's mouth touched his. The kiss was shorter than he'd have liked, but the door was still open and Burt Hummel was still upstairs. "You owe me something big for this, Hummel," Puck murmured, hazel eyes dark as he looked up at the other boy.

"I'll pay you back later. Not tonight. Tonight," Kurt informed Puck, sitting down primly beside him, "we only have until ten before dad comes to kick you out, so you'll have to settle for light petting or half an hour of a movie."

"You got some weird rule that says we can't do both?"

Five minutes later Hellboy was playing on the TV and Kurt was crushed up against Puck's side, pressed tight against him with a hand rubbing his thigh. "Where is he?" Kurt asked quietly, a murmur into Puck's ear.

"Where do you think?" Puck teased. He let his fingertips dance over the top of Kurt's fly before he moved his hand up to a more acceptable position on the other boy's waist. "Think, Princess. You're smart enough to figure it out."

"You," Kurt sighed, though he didn't sound particularly unhappy, "Noah Puckerman, are an unholy tease."

Puck just smirked and stole a strawberry-gloss flavoured kiss.

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* * *

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**September**

It hurt to bend over and his right shoulder pulled uncomfortably when he tried to lift his arm to a certain height. To top it off, Puck's nose was still tender and there was a small, suspicious bruise right where the cartilage attached to bone. That wasn't what was pissing him off though. What was pissing him off was that, for the first time in his life he couldn't say 'you should see the other guy' without turning it into an ironic statement.

Irony could go fuck itself for all he cared. Karofsky and his gang of meathead friends had cheated, Puck had accomplished nothing but bruises.

He slouched through most of the school day, cut classes, and spent most of lunch alone with increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies. He was already frustrated and touchy by the time he got to the choir room and purposefully took a seat as close to the edge of the group as possible, hoping to avoid anyone commenting on his mood.

It worked. Sort of. At least, nobody commented on his mood.

"What happened to you?" Santana asked dryly. She sat in the seat in front of him and leaned back to look at him. "You look like crap."

"Does it hurt?" Brittany asked from the seat beside Santana. She gave Puck a sympathetic look. "Your nose looks like it hurts."

Puck tried glaring at her but it was impossible. "No," he settled for finally, "I'm fine."

"Ok," Santana rolled her eyes, "whatever you say."

Puck slumped further down in his chair, ignored the protest from his back, and crossed his arms. He glared sullenly at the front of the room, hoping to all that was holy that Mr. Schuester would not call on him to get up for any reason. Today was probably the only day in the entire school year that he wouldn't want to get up and sing. Lucky for him Mr. Schue seemed to have different plans, ones that didn't involve any solo singing.

Unlucky for him it didn't seem necessary for Mr. Schue to single anyone out for the rest of the club to notice Puck's bad mood and bruises.

"Dude, are you ok?" Finn asked as soon as he got through the door, "I haven't seen you all day."

Naturally that announcement made everyone already in the room look at him. Puck shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wincing when his shoulder gave a sharp stab of protest. "How about we not talk about this, ok?" he asked the room in general.

The room in general ignored him, and so did the rest of the glee kids.

"What happened?" Finn pressed, and instead of taking his usual seat next to Rachel he took one of the spare seats beside Puck.

Puck remembered not to shrug only because his shoulder was still aching in protest of his earlier shuffling. "I got in a fight," he said simply. "I didn't win."

"Fight club?" Finn asked.

"No," Puck grumbled.

"Come on, what happened?" Finn asked again, and Puck was aware that most of the other students in the club were listening in. They weren't even bothering to hide it, a few of them looking right at him with open concern or sympathy. Puck didn't like that. They weren't supposed to be looking at him like that. He was supposed to be tougher than this.

"Nothing."

"Is this because you keep stopping people from throwing slushies at us?" Tina asked from across the room, proving that yes, everyone was listening.

"No," Puck replied, when he really meant yes.

"Clearly," a cool, calm voice sailed through the air and Puck turned his head slightly to see Kurt Hummel examining his nails rather than looking at him, "he doesn't want to talk about it. And, as Rachel would say, we're wasting valuable singing time."

"I wouldn't say that!" Rachel protested. "I think Puck's current state of health after stepping up to help out the rest of us is _very _important, and I think we should show him some support."

"Forget it, Berry," Puck stated. "I don't need your support."

Will Schuester seemed to decide that was the perfect time to step in and direct everyone's attention towards actual practice instead of plain old gossip. Puck sank into the background this time, happy to let others carry the song and concentrate on just being part of the chorus. All of their concern and their comments just hit it home for him. He was doing a halfassed job here and he needed to do better. He was already an awesome badass out to protect his friends. What he needed was a way to actually make it stick. He needed an equaliser, a way to get through to the assholes who still kept up their harassment. He'd figure it out, and then he'd get them when they were alone - one by one until he'd really gotten his point across


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes**: The end of this chapter does not mark the end of the 'September' section. I'm still working on refining the next piece, but it should pick up immediately after, instead of moving on to October again.

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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* * *

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**October**

Puck sat behind the wheel of his truck, hands already encased in his trusty leather gloves. It was one in the morning and his mother thought he was staying the night at a friend's place. His backpack lay on the seat beside him, his bowie knife within easy reach and a fresh can of bleach in the truck bed. He watched the house in silence, waiting for the party to die down and for Dave Karofsky to come stumbling out towards his car.

He was wide awake, anticipation keeping him alert. Kurt had been texting him at random intervals during the night but so far Puck had only answered twice, not wanting to take his eyes off the house in case he missed his opportunity when it came.

The moment came close to two in the morning.

Puck saw Karofsky's face under the street light and leapt out of his truck. He crossed the road silently and came up behind the other boy. A quick, sharp hit across the back of the head with the heavy handle of his knife and Karofsky lurched forwards, vomit exploding from his mouth onto the sidewalk as he fell to his knees. Puck moved quick, shoving a tennis ball into Karofsky's open mouth. He didn't care if the other boy choked. It wasn't as if when or how the boy died really mattered that much, as long as he wound up dead.

He grabbed Karofsky's arms and pulled the zip-ties from the pocket of his hoodie. In seconds he had the other boy bound and quickly dragged him across the road and to the back of the truck. The adrenaline pumping through Puck's body made him strong. He grinned wickedly through the window as he shut the door on the other boy's horrified face.

Puck crossed to the other side of the truck and jumped back in. He shut his door, started the engine, and turned briefly to smirk over his shoulder at the bound and gagged hockey player in the back seat. "Time's up," he said. "You're about to find out what happened to your friends."

The truck rumbled down the street, the radio playing Mindless Self Indulgence.

It took half an hour to get to where Puck had planned for them to go, and in that time Karofsky managed to pass out briefly and wet himself. Puck wrinkled his nose as he hauled the other boy out of the truck and dumped him out on the dirt. The area around the overpass was completely silent. At this time of night nobody was around for miles and the rare semitrailer that rumbled overhead never stopped to look around.

Under here they might as well have been invisible.

Puck set up the lights from his backpack, kerosene lanterns that burned bright enough to see by and low enough not to attract attention. He pulled out his knife, and then had a wicked thought and pulled out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of Karofsky lying in the dirt and scrolled down his contacts until he got to Kurt's number. One picture message later and he smirked down at Karofsky.

"Guess where I'm going to stick you," he said, showing the dazed and drunken boy his bowie knife. "Just fucking guess."

Karofsky groaned around the tennis-ball gag, eyes wide and unfocussed.

Puck crouched down by his legs, knife out, figuring he'd better get the precautions out of the way first. The other boy made a noise of protest and tried to kick, aware enough to figure out a thing or two about what would happen next. Puck had researched this in anatomy books in the library. His knife ripped through denim and flesh. Karofsky screamed, the sound muffled by the gag.

Blood soaked quickly through the boy's worn jeans, his legs twitching, body curling as if to somehow get away from the pain. Puck had just cut his hamstrings. There was no way Karofsky could get away now.

Puck stood up again and snapped another picture with his phone. He grinned, the blood pumping hard through his veins, adrenaline and endorphins making him feel giddy. "I love this part."

When it was done he stood over the body for a moment, knife dripping, breathing heavy. It took a while to make himself move, to walk back to the truck and drop his knife into the bleach. He leaned against the side of his truck for a moment, recapturing his composure. When he turned back to the body he was grinning.

He took out his phone and walked a circle around Karofsky's corpse, stopping to take photos that were as graphic as his pixel count would allow. He saved them, tucked his phone away, and made use of his gloves to drag the body further under the overpass and into a clump of scraggly bushes where it wouldn't be seen from the road. He scuffed out the marks left by the body and his shoes, kicked loose dirt over the blood.

Fifteen minutes later, all of his gear packed up, gloves in a plastic bag at the bottom of his pack, Puck sent the photos to Kurt while he sat in his truck.

His phone buzzed barely a minute later with Kurt's reply. Puck opened the picture message and chuckled to himself; "Kinky slut, Hummel." He tossed the phone down to the seat beside him without closing the message. The slightly blurred photo of Kurt's hand gripping his naked cock rode shotgun beside Puck on the way back into Lima.

It was three in the morning when Puck parked his truck a block away from the Hummel's house. He walked the rest of the way and ducked down the side of the Hummel's house until he found the basement window. The window was already cracked open, Kurt waiting for him in a chair underneath dressed in silk pyjama pants and a royal blue sweater that ended half way down his thighs.

"Hey, Princess," Puck murmured, just loud enough for Kurt to hear.

The other boy practically jumped out of his chair and turned around to look up at the basement window. "Noah," he breathed, cheeks flushing pink. His lips quirked into something like a smile. "I got your messages."

"Thought you'd like that. Can I come in?"

Kurt glanced towards the stairs to the basement door, then looked back at Puck and nodded. "Just be quiet," he warned the other boy. "It's three in the morning, if my dad catches you here I'll be grounded for a month."

"Quiet as a fucking mouse," Puck agreed. He jimmied the window open enough that he could slide in feet-first, not caring about the dirt on his shoes. He dropped down to the chair, then stepped to the floor. Kurt was looking at his feet and the dirt he was tracking inside, so rather than get bitched at Puck kicked his sneakers off at the foot of the chair.

Kurt grabbed at him then, pale, delicate fingers gripping tight into Puck's hoodie and yanking him closer. Puck stepped forward to press their bodies together, fisting his hands in the back of Kurt's sweater and frankly not giving a fuck if he ruined it. He crashed his mouth down against Kurt's, tongue thrusting out to taste the pale boy's mouth.

Together they stumbled back and crashed down onto the bed with a muffled thump. Gravity was pressing Puck's body down against the boy underneath him, creating a delicious friction that he was hesitant to break in order to let them both move up onto the bed properly. Puck pulled away just long enough to move, and took the opportunity to take his hoodie off. He pulled at the fabric of Kurt's sweater, sliding his hands up underneath until he found skin.

One of Kurt's silk-clad legs hooked over Puck's hip, pulling him closer and molding the lower half of their bodies together. Puck arched his back, pressing them together tighter, and when he leaned back down again his mouth sought Kurt's neck. He bit lightly, worrying at the pale skin with his teeth until he had marked a small bruise into the flesh.

Kurt's fingers dug in under Puck's shoulder blades. Puck could tell, just from the noise that Kurt bit back, that the other boy had just come in his pants.

"Too worked up to wait, Hummel?"

Kurt retaliated by biting down on Puck's lip with their next kiss. Pale hands pushed on his shoulders and Puck rolled, nearly falling off the edge of the bed before regaining his balance. By the time he was settled again Kurt had already unzipped his jeans and had shoved a hand inside. Soft, sure fingers wrapped around him and Puck closed his eyes.

All of the excitement and adrenaline built up over the night came roaring back into his system. The feel of Kurt's mouth against him, his fingers tight and teasing, sent a static shockwave through his body.

If they kept doing this - this routine of stalk-kill-fuck - past Puck's list, he had the feeling that he'd turn out just as freaky as Kurt when it came to death.

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* * *

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**Late September**

Magic Li's was, at first glance, completely ignorable and totally overpriced. From the outside the store appeared run down, the paint on the windows chipped, the neon light about the door tacky rather than inviting. In the window live fish swam listlessly back and forth while depressed-looking crabs just sat there with their pincers tied to their bodies. Inside was all white and black tiling, with a menu board above the register that listed misspelled items that looked like they'd been priced at least 50% more than they were actually worth.

Even the parking lot was run down, the tarmac chipped, cracks in the sidewalk, and one lonely streetlamp that buzzed and emitted a pale orange light.

You would never know just by looking at it that the shop actually sold the best Chinese food in town. (And to top it off, the owners weren't even Chinese - they were Korean.) Puck had been going there every second Thursday of the month since practically forever. When he was a kid he'd gone with his mother, but now that he was old enough to drive and his mother didn't like leaving the house for anything but work Puck was usually just handed a couple of notes and trusted to bring back the usual for dinner.

He showed up at the shop just before the sun set completely, in that weird time before it started to get dark. He parked his truck outside and walked straight up to the counter to rattle off his usual order. The girl at the register - the owners' daughter - advised him of a twenty minute wait, so Puck nodded to her and walked back outside again intending to go around the block a couple of times on foot while he waited.

He got only as far as the edge of the building when he heard something that made him stop. It sounded like a scuffle, a quiet fight going on at the back of the building where there were no streetlamps and no security cameras - just a small staff parking area that was never used and a large dumpster belonging to the restaurant.

For a moment Puck had no idea why he'd stopped. It was none of his business what went on at the back of Magic Li's.

Then he heard the muffled sound of a very distinctive voice and knew why it concerned him. He recognised that voice. He even recognised that tone - indignant and just a tiny bit scared but trying hard not to show it. There was no contest, no decision. Puck squared his shoulders and made his way around the back of the building.

Kurt stood with his back against the wall, boxed in on one side by the dumpster and the other by a senior that Puck recognised from school. Nathan was tall, broad, and as well as being on the hockey team he spent his weekends at the gym. He was also a jerk who ran in the same general crowd as Karofsky, and right now he was totally asking for an ass-kicking.

"Hey," Puck called, catching the older boy's attention. "You want to back off there, assface?"

"Puckerman," Nathan said, glancing back over his shoulder. "You want to leave before you get your face pounded?"

Puck cracked his knuckles and let Nathan see it when he balled his hands into fists. "Wanna see who gets pounded? I've got twenty minutes to kill and I'm bored as fuck."

"I can take care of myself," Kurt piped up, glaring at both boys even as his voice trembled a little.

"Not a chance, Princess," Puck said, at the same time as Nathan snapped "Shut it, fag".

Puck made the first move. That's the most solid thing he could remember about the next couple of minutes. Puck threw the first punch, Nathan hit back, and from there it was all a blur. Puck dodged, blocked, and slammed his fist into Nathan's solar plexus to drive the wind from him. At one point Nathan managed to get a good hold on him, but Puck wasn't above playing dirty and slammed his knee into the older boy's groin to get him to let go. He slammed the toe of his steel-caps against the inside of Nathan's ankle and suddenly the boy was going down.

Puck went with him, using his weight to help slam him against the concrete step. Nathan grunted as the air was driven from his lungs again. He tried to get back up, but Puck was there with a knee on his back to stop him. A hand gripped Nathan's hair, slamming his forehead down against the concrete again, and one more.

"Puck!"

The shocked, nervous cry brought him back to reality. Puck looked down at the limp body underneath him. He stood up and backed off, knuckles stinging, parts of his torso aching where Nathan had gotten in a couple of really good hits. He noticed Kurt staring at him, face flushed, eyes wide, and self-consciously brushed dirt from his pants. "It's ok," he assured Kurt. "I'm fine. He's fine. Just knocked out." Puck poked Nathan with the toe of his boot. "He'll have one hell of a headache when he... Huh."

That was a lot of blood on the concrete. Puck pushed harder with his boot, he rolled Nathan over and then took a step back in surprise. The boy's eyes were still open, and blood was still seeping from the crack in his skull. "Holy shit."

"Oh my God," the whimper came from Kurt. "Oh my God," Kurt said again, sounding oddly breathless, "he's dead!"

For one very brief moment, just a split second, Puck considered calling the police. Or an ambulance. Hell, he considered rushing to the back door of Magic Li's and asking for help. Then other things began to pop into his mind. He'd just killed someone. Nathan. He'd just killed Nathan... and upon reflection... he wasn't at all worried about that. What he was worried about was getting blamed.

No. Getting caught.

Puck looked around the lot. He glanced at the building to check for security cameras - there had never been one here before, but it didn't hurt to check. Nothing. The only person around, the only witness, was Kurt Hummel. Puck looked at the other boy only to see Kurt staring at him with a very odd look on his flushed face. He looked excited, even reverent.

"Noah..." Kurt blinked, licked his lips, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "You just killed Nathan."

Puck didn't protest the use of his real name, too busy staring at Kurt and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He looked the other boy up and down - face flushed, eyes wide and dark, body trembling, noticeable bulge in his already-tight pants. "Holy fuck," Puck blurted, "you're totally fucking hard right now."

"You're an idiot!" Kurt snapped, his cheeks flushing a brighter red than before. "You... You need to clean this up before anyone sees. You need to get rid of the evidence before someone calls the police."

"Me? What are you going to be doing?"

"I," Kurt informed him, raising a hand to brush his hair away from his forehead, "am going to go home. I'm not the one who killed him."

"No," Puck replied, unable to keep the taunt from his tone; "You just stood there and watched and popped a boner."

"You'll need bleach," Kurt continued, ignoring him. "And something disposable to wrap the body in. If you pour the bleach over the blood on the concrete it will disintegrate and they won't be able to get any significant forensic evidence from what's left behind. Then you'll need to get rid of the body..."

Puck stared at Kurt for a moment. "Have you done this before?"

"Don't be stupid!" Kurt snapped. The pale boy looked from Puck to the body and then away. "I simply have an interesting browser history and... and may have watched several films..." Kurt cleared his throat. "I'm going now. Remember, bleach. And don't leave your fingerprints anywhere either."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes**: For those of you who've been reading this story the whole way through - this chapter picks up right where the last one ended, which means we're still in Late September, immediately after Nathan's death.

I hope you all enjoyed this story, and if you did then I hope you find the time to tell me. Because even though in future I may very well write about what happens next in this world there's no guarantee I'll be publishing it if I don't think anyone will enjoy reading it.

**Warnings**: (Minor) Character death, graphic violence, boy/boy sex.

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**Late September**

Somehow, through some miracle, Puck managed to get the blood cleaned up and the body hidden away and still pick up the Chinese food for dinner before his mother was expecting him back. He spent the entire evening thinking about the body - about Nathan being dead. And about how ridiculously easy it had been to kill someone.

The body still sat where he'd left it, wrapped up neatly in a tarp he'd bought from a hardware store a few blocks down the road from Magic Li's. His current hiding place was just a temporary solution designed to get the body the fuck out of sight. He'd have to go back and move it somewhere else.

He thought about where he could dump the body while he ate dinner with his mother and sister, thought about it while sitting in front of the TV afterwards until he finally had an idea for a place that might actually work.

Only first he had to do a bit of leg work.

Puck raided the cleaning chemicals under the sink, knowing he'd probably have to clean up a bit before he left the body. He looked through his wardrobe until he found the pair of leather motorcycle gloves he'd bought a couple of years ago and never actually worn. He dressed in plain, baggy clothes, the kind that didn't get you noticed, and decided on sneakers instead of boots. More people wore this brand of sneakers than steel-caps, and he didn't want to be distinctive. Puck had seen plenty of cop shows - enough to know that a footprint was considered evidence and that different brands had different treads.

He left the house at nine at night with a simple 'be back late' to his mother. She didn't care much about what he did these days, as long as he stayed out of trouble and was there to run errands. Sometimes that freedom made him feel like she didn't care. Right now it felt like a blessing.

He picked up the body, plus tarp, and somehow got it into the bed of his pickup truck, arranged so that nobody could tell that it was actually a dead guy and not just something he didn't want exposed to the elements. It was long past ten before he was done, the tarp thoroughly cleaned and rolled neatly back into a small bundle in the back of his truck.

Puck parked on the side of the road, a small frown on his face as he thought. He'd been thinking a lot in the past few hours.

He pulled out his phone and frowned at it for a moment before he scrolled to Kurt's name in his contact list. It was a number he'd never actually called before, only in his phone from the few times they'd been in a group that needed to coordinate rehearsals for glee-club assignments. The phone rang seven times before Kurt answered, sounding wary.

"Hey," Puck said, "I had this idea... If I come pick you up can we talk face to face?"

"It's ten-thirty at night," Kurt replied, as if talking to a child.

"So?" Puck smirked to himself. He had an idea of how to get Kurt to react the way he wanted to. "I'll tell you where I dumped Nathan's body."

Kurt was silent, but Puck could hear his breathing suddenly get heavier. "Um... Ok," Kurt said eventually. "But you'll have to park down the road. You can't come to the door."

"Badass Hummel," Puck teased, "sneaking out at night." He checked the time, then told him; "I'll be there in ten minutes. Be ready."

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Kurt looked strange sitting in the passenger seat of the truck. He'd thrown on the first decent outfit he could find and climbed out the basement window to avoid being caught by his dad. Puck had been waiting for him and Kurt had practically flung himself into the truck before demanding that they drive.

Now the truck was parked under a streetlamp by a small park, the surrounding area completely and totally empty of people.

"So..." Kurt said.

"I wrote up this list," Puck started, digging the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket to show the other boy.

"Karofsky, Azimio, Phillips, Donahue, Robinson..." Kurt looked up at him in surprise, blue eyes wide. "These are all of the school's biggest bullies.

"Nathan would be on there too, but he's dead."

Kurt's eyes widened a little at the way he said that, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. He looked at the list, then back at Puck as if trying to gauge just how serious the other boy was being. "Did you use bleach like I told you?" Kurt asked quietly. Puck nodded. "Did you make sure you didn't leave anything behind?" Puck nodded again. "Did you... did you dump the body where it wouldn't be found for at least a couple of weeks?"

"I'm not stupid, Hummel."

"No," Kurt said softly, looking at Puck's lips. "No, I don't think you are, are you?"

"I know death makes you hot," Puck added. He could see it when Kurt blushed thanks to the light from the street lamp outside. He flashed the other boy a grin. "Come on? Internet videos? You're not watching CSI, you're jerking off to snuff."

"I'm not attracted to dead people," Kurt replied stiffly.

"But they get you hot for cock, right?" Puck shifted, turning a little and moving his hips to give Kurt a little something to look at. "So you know all about it, what to do and all that shit? How to not get caught? You've thought about it a lot."

"Noah..."

"I want to take that list," Puck stated, completely serious, "and cross off all those names. And I want to do it with a knife. With my bare fucking hands in a pair of leather gloves."

Kurt licked his lips again, this time clearly looking at Puck's crotch. Then his eyes flicked back up to Puck's face."Why?"

"Because nobody fucks with me, or my friends. I'm the god-damn Puckasaurus. If they're too stupid to learn from my fists then they're too stupid to learn at all. So," Puck shrugged, "I'll just get rid of them."

"Oh my God." Kurt unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face Puck properly. "Ok. I'm going to pounce on you now."

"So you'll tell me what to do? You'll help me?"

"Fuck yes."

"Then hurry up and pounce, Hummel."

He dropped Kurt back home just after midnight, clothing rumpled, face flushed and lips puffy from kissing. Puck decided not to think too hard about the making out and mutual frenzied handjobs in the front seat of his pickup. It was fun, it was sex, and it wasn't as if Kurt was going to tell anyone.

Puck bought the knife the next day. A big hunting knife with a serrated edge on one side. He tucked it out of sight and drove to the other side of town to buy a gas can and a gallon bottle of bleach. He showed Kurt after choir practice and received a very enthusiastic blowjob in an empty math classroom. Afterwards, looking at Kurt's shiny pink lips, Puck had agreed that it was best to plan backwards - starting with where the body should be dumped and going from there.

"You have to tell me," Kurt demanded, pressed tight against him with his arms around Puck's waist. "Every time. You have to give me every single tiny little detail."

"Don't worry," Puck replied, hooked his thumbs through the belt-loops on Kurt's pants and smirked. "I'll make it good for you."

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**November 1st, Monday**

School on Monday was unusually peaceful. There were no dumpster tosses, nobody waiting to throw slushies on unsuspecting geeks. There was even a suspicious lack of verbal jeering. Everything was quiet, Puck noted with satisfaction as he walked through the front doors of William McKinley High. He headed down the hallway to the usual before-school congregation at Kurt's locker, a little surprised to see Brittany standing there with Tina, Artie and Mercedes.

"Well, it's official," Tina said to the rest of the group, looking over Artie's shoulder at the newspaper he was holding. "There is actually a serial killer in Lima."

"One with a thing for jocks," Artie agreed.

"That makes you guys safe," Puck commented as he joined the group. He joined the cluster around Artie and looked down at the article everyone was currently focussed on. A quick scan for names and he saw that they'd found the bodies of Robinson and Azimio. The rest were listed as 'missing, presumed dead'. Puck smirked to himself when he saw the last paragraph that reluctantly admitted that police had no suspects.

"Lima's first serial killer targets dumb jocks," Artie said, folding the newspaper up again. "It's a great time to be a nerd."

"And a girl," Mercedes added, and touched fingers with Tina.

"Puck isn't a girl," Brittany pointed out seriously. "And he plays sports."

At first glance they seemed fine with the idea that six of their classmates were dead. The way they all turned to look at Puck, expressions ranging from outright worry to 'trying-to-hide-my-concern', said otherwise. Puck could have reassured them, but he thought it would be a really stupid idea to openly admit to murder. Instead he just shook his head. "I'm a gleek. I think I'm safe. Where's Kurt?" he asked Mercedes, hoping to direct the conversation away from the danger he was supposedly in.

Mercedes shook her head. "Not here. I haven't seen him."

"What if the killer got him?" Brittany asked.

"Kurt's safe," Puck replied, and patted her shoulder. "He doesn't play sport."

"But he's on the Cheerios."

"Cheering isn't a sport," Tina said, obviously hoping to reassure her friend, "it's... cheering."

"Oh," Brittany didn't sound convinced, but she looked a little less worried anyway.

"Kurt's too fabulous to let himself get caught by some serial killer," Mercedes assured her.

"Is someone talking about me?" Kurt's voice sailed through the air, confident and clear. He stopped for a moment to give Mercedes a quick 'hello' hug before continuing two feet onwards to his locker. "I heard the words 'fabulous' and 'serial killer'," he added, checking his hair in the mirror on the inside of his locker door. "And I can assure you, it's not true. I did not in fact kill a man for the last pair of Gucci loafers in a size 11 last Saturday. I will swear to my grave that he tripped and fell."

Puck grinned at that. He moved to lean against the locker beside Kurt's and informed the other boy; "They were afraid the serial killer got you."

"Oh, he did," Kurt replied, "we had hot sex in the back of his car last night, and he let me go when I told him I had school in the morning."

"That's not funny," Mercedes protested, and glared at him when Puck said;

"I think it's funny."

"Thank you, Noah." Kurt smiled at him. "Oh, and my dad wants me to invite you over to watch some sports game on the big screen."

"Why does your dad want to invite Puck over?" Mercedes asked, one eyebrow raised as she looked back and forth between both boys.

"We're dating," Kurt replied simply.

"Fucking," Puck corrected, and smirked when Kurt's nose wrinkled in irritation.

"Whatever," he said. "Are you coming or not?"

"Sure."

"And you're taking me to dinner after glee today. We need to talk about your future career path. Fast food is not an acceptable dinner destination," he added. "So don't even think about taking me anywhere that deep-fries." Kurt flashed Puck a smile and kissed him on the cheek, then sashayed off in the direction of his first class, leaving both his friends and his 'boyfriend' in shock.

Puck stared after Kurt, watching the way he sliced through the hallway, crowds of milling students parting around him. "You are such a bitch," he muttered, lips involuntarily twisting into a grin.

He had no plan, no list of people to cross off one by one... But he had a feeling that Kurt knew exactly what Puck was going to be doing next. He bypassed the surprised slurry of questions, knowing there would be plenty more where that came from. News that he was supposedly dating Kurt Hummel would be all over the school by the end of the day - the Princess was a sneaky little bitch, but Puck didn't mind. He'd always had a thing for bitches. Especially kinky bitches.

He waited until his second class to text Kurt, hiding his phone under the table. _'bonnie+clyde?_'

His phone buzzed with the reply two minutes later. '_4ever_'.

END


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